


Postscripts

by rilina



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Female Protagonist, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-08
Updated: 2009-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rilina/pseuds/rilina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ladies of Avatar in the years after the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postscripts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Edonohana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/gifts), [thuviaptarth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thuviaptarth/gifts).
  * Inspired by [On the Road Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15276) by [rilina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rilina/pseuds/rilina). 



> Spoilers for series ending. For thuviaptarth, who asked where all the older women in Avatar were, and for edonohana, who has been waiting patiently for a follow-up to her sneak peak since December. Many thanks to springgreen for the beta.

#### Year 2

#### 

No one is paying any attention when the last of the Kyoshi Warriors finally comes home from the war. Unannounced and unexpected, Suki arrives in the gray hour before dawn, when most of the village is still sleeping. Only a few fishermen are up early, plying their craft, and they are far too busy mending their nets to recognize a prodigal daughter as she trudges past them, up the beach, and toward the village proper.

The road up to the chapterhouse is long, and the sun's halfway above the horizon by the time Suki reaches the end of it. Her old haunt is pretty much as she left it. Her sister warriors have left the doors open to the fine spring day, and the familiar sounds of a morning practice fill Suki's ears. Measured steps; barked commands; the deadly, sibilant swish of steel fans. Suki's hands immediately itch for her own weapons, but she stops herself before her fingers can close around empty air.

Her foot is on the threshold when her courage fails her, and she ducks back quickly before anyone can notice she was there. She sits down on the steps and drops her head into her hands as she tries to decide what explanation she can give them. Will they understand that sometimes the thought of home is stronger than anything else? Those she's left behind didn't. That broke her heart almost as much as leaving did.

She still hasn't made up her mind when the practice ends, and her sister warriors spill out of the doors to begin the rest of their day. They nearly trip over her before they realize who she is. And before Suki quite understands what is happening, she is accepting their astonished hugs and telling them, "I didn't care for such long winters after all."

Everyone has missed her, and they make sure she knows it as they welcome her back into their fold. They fuss over her the way she used to fuss over them when they were injured or ill or just low in spirits. A few drag her back to their parents' houses to enjoy home-cooked meals; others set up her old room just as it was before they ever knew the Avatar was back. But most of their efforts are in vain. Suki is home, but she's not the leader they remember. Though she comes to the chapterhouse every morning and evening to watch them train, she makes no attempt to participate. She doesn't even seem to have her old fans. And most days she only lingers at practice for a few minutes before she wanders out to sit in the sun.

There's an unspoken agreement to give Suki her space at such times, but one person (the usual one) doesn't get the message. Which is why Suki's reverie is broken one evening by Ty Lee's painfully chipper voice.

"I know something that will make you feel better."

Several responses pop into Suki's head, including _I can still beat you nine times out of ten._ She settles for arching one brow and asking, "Do you?"

Ty Lee doesn't notice the sarcasm. "Yes! But it's a surprise. You've got to promise to close your eyes and not peek no matter what." She is hiding something behind her back and almost vibrating with excitement.

Suki remembers that Ty Lee with a plan is a cause for concern, but when she was a leader, she learned how to pick her battles. So she relents with a shrug, and lets her eyes drift shut.

At first, nothing happens. There's no trick or joke, just some faint noises as Ty Lee shuffles around whatever she was hiding. And though she should know better, Suki relaxes her guard, lets the tension drain from her shoulders. So when something cool and damp unexpectedly touches the tip of her nose, she nearly jumps out of her skin. And her eyes fly open, not because the sensation is strange but because it is so very familiar.

Ty Lee is not pleased. "You promised!" she wails. A glop of white face paint drips from the sponge in her hand onto Suki's shirt. "Close them! Now!"

So Suki shuts her eyes again and holds herself perfectly still as Ty Lee applies the white base, red accents, and black eyeliner that the women of Kyoshi have worn into battle for generations. The slightly sticky feel of the makeup on her skin reminds her of her old life in a way that nothing else has. It's like falling back through time, to all those lazy afternoons she spent in the chapterhouse with Hina and Kiyoe and a dozen others who won't ever come back from the war. Suki doesn't cry remembering them. The time for those tears has passed, and she won't spoil Ty Lee's work without a better reason.

When Ty Lee is done, she produces a tiny enameled mirror from her pocket and hands it to Suki, who inspects her reflection critically. The lines of color aren't as clean as her own handiwork would be, but it will do.

"Now you just need a headdress and robes," Ty Lee says. "You're about Mana's size, right?"

"She's a little taller. There should be extras in the storehouse. I'll ask Tomo to unlock--" Suki falls silent when Ty Lee runs into the chapterhouse and returns a moment later with a large cloth-wrapped bundle. "Please don't tell you've already stolen Mana's."

Ty Lee beams. Suki makes a mental note to make sure Mana gets her belongings back. "It won't fit, you know."

"It'll be close enough. Who cares about it being perfect?"

Suki doesn't answer; she's taking another long look in the mirror. The painted face in the glass is smiling back.

* * *

  


#### Year 7

#### 

Four bare walls, one locked door, and a tiny window with an empty patch of sky: this is what Azula has left after the Avatar strips her of her bending and her brother strips her of her rank. The solitude is the cruelest part of her sentence. She's been left with only herself for company--the figments of her imagination don't count--and the Azula who is not a bender and not a princess is not much company at all.

She stops counting the days of her confinement when she reaches a thousand. So when her cell door opens to reveal an unscheduled visitor, she has no idea of how much time has passed. The person standing in the open doorway, silhouetted by the flickering light of the lanterns in the corridor, is not her doctor (portly and short), making his weekly inspection, nor her brother (somehow still getting taller), making his yearly one. Not any man, in fact. A woman, tall and straight as a young tree, wearing a very familiar hairpiece.

It takes Azula a moment to find her voice, and when she does, it sounds harsh and unfamiliar in her own ears. For too long, all she's heard is the sound of her own breathing. "Are you real?"

Ursa doesn't seem to hear the question, but she extends a single pale hand. After a moment's hesitation, Azula takes it.

She's too nervous to venture another question until she finds herself standing in the sunlit courtyard of the asylum. There's not another soul to be seen. But the sun and wind don't seem like a hallucination, even if her mother does.

"Where are we going?" Azula asks.

Ursa smiles. Azula is instantly suspicious, because her mother only smiles for Zuko. Azula pinches herself to see if her mother will vanish. Ursa doesn't, at least not yet. And her voice, when she finally speaks, is gentle.

"Where else would I take you? Home."

This might be another delusion. Azula chooses to believe it is real.

* * *

  


#### Year 11

#### 

Thanks to her interesting adolescence, Mai has mastered the art of appearing unruffled, if not downright blase, in the face of the most unexpected developments. As Fire Lady, she has managed to look bored through trials and tribulations of all shapes and sizes, including the sudden entrance of ninja assassins during the third course of a major diplomatic dinner. So when her daughter rushes into her garden, weeping as if her heart will break, Mai doesn't even bat an eye. She's seen such tears many times before over incidents minor (a new toy, wanted and denied) and major (Uncle Iroh's last farewell), and knows perfectly well how to handle them.

"What happened?" She wipes away her daughter's tears with a clean handkerchief, and notices a small bandage on her daughter's right hand. "Did you get hurt?" The tale emerges in dribs and drabs, punctuated by occasional fresh wails of unhappiness. When it is over, Mai strokes her daughter's shining black hair until she falls asleep with her cheek on her mother's knee. Then Mai summons her attendants, asks them to tuck the princess into her royal bed, and goes in search of her husband.

She tracks Zuko down in his office, having gleaned more details of the story from the whispers she overheard along the way. Two fresh-faced guards bar her way. "The Fire Lord has asked not to be disturbed."

Mai just stares at them, giving them time to remember exactly who they're dealing with. She has never just been the Fire Lord's high-born wife. She's also the woman who regularly has extra pockets sewn into her robes to conceal her throwing knives, as more than one person targeting her family has discovered to their (short-lived) dismay. The guards only last a minute under her cool gaze before they decide to step aside.

Zuko is sitting at his desk, brooding with more determination than Mai's seen in at least three years. She's a bit surprised to observe that none of the knickknacks on his desk are broken, though there is some evidence that he's been throwing papers on the floor. She finds a comfortable perch on a suspiciously empty space on his desk and waits for him to pull himself together.

"She was more upset by your reaction than the actual burn, you know," she tells him. "Don't try to tell me that you never burned yourself when you were learning how to bend."

"She didn't burn herself. I burned her." Zuko pounds his fist on his desk, apparently intent on emphasizing his total failure as a human being. "I thought she was ready to learn how to counter. It was just the weakest little puff. And her bending is strong already, really strong. But she panicked and--"

His chin wobbles dangerously. Mai forces herself not to laugh. Then she reaches out and gently touches the scar that wraps around his left eye. "It's not the same as this."

In the past, he would have flinched away from such a caress; now he just covers her hand with his own. "I don't want her memories of firebending to include being burned by her father."

"It's not the same. You know that." Zuko is many things--Fire Lord, master bender, and hopeless dork among them--but he is not Ozai. "And if it's any consolation, next week I will start teaching her how to throw pointy things that can kill people."

Zuko's laughter is a little hysterical. Mai lets him get it out of his system. And eventually he calms down and says, a bit ruefully, "I'm sorry you had to be the adult today."

"We both grew up too early. Occasional relapses are permissible. Just remember that next time it's my turn."

"It's a deal," he mumbles. He puts his head down on her lap and closes his eyes.

"Always," she tells him.

She strokes his hair until he falls asleep.

* * *

  


#### Year 14

#### 

Toph is in Ba Sing Se when the news of the Avatar's death reaches her. She's made semi-regular visits to the Earth Kingdom capital since the end of the war; it's the best place to hear about reconstruction efforts that might need her bending. As a result, the Earth King's messengers know exactly where to find her with their sad tidings. She is sitting in the Jasmine Dragon, drinking ginseng tea in honor of the old guy, when the messengers parade up to her table with great fanfare.

They read out the news with all due solemnity. Several of the other customers overhear; one begins to cry. Others just talk, and the gossip has reached the dumpling shop across the street by the time the message is complete. But Toph doesn't cry. She shouts.

"Look here, buddy. I may not seem like much to you, but I do know the Avatar. And it would take a lot more than an avalanche to kill him or any earthbender. Take your lies and go away." She punctuates her final words with a stamp that cracks the floor.

The messengers flee.

More details emerge as days pass, and Toph eventually has to acknowledge that the rumors might be true. If there's one thing that Aang would instantly give his life to save, it is the fledgling settlements in the old air temples, where groups of war refugees are attempting to recover the lost arts of airbending. "Defeating the Fire Lord was my penance," he once told her when she visited him at the Northern Air Temple. They'd been sitting in one of the towers high in the complex. Then he'd added, sweeping his arm to encompass the bustling settlement, "But this my life work. To make sure I'm not the last airbender. To preserve what my people left behind."

By the time Toph learns from a girl carrying a white lotus pai sho tile that the old gang is gathering to say their goodbyes, she has already resigned herself to the truth. Her friend is gone. The Avatar is dead. Long live the Avatar.

She skips the reunion. Her steps turn elsewhere, south and east, toward a place that Aang told her about long ago, when they were both children and not at all sure they would survive the terrible war. The heart of earthbending on Earth, he'd called it. "We'll go together," he'd said another time, at the beginning of the peace. He'd been so excited by the prospect of a journey with no other goal than fun that he'd nearly floated off the ground. And Toph had agreed. So even though her travels had taken her past that place time and again, she'd just kept walking. The world wouldn't always need them so much. A day would come when they could be spared enough time to fulfill that childhood promise.

Now it's up to Toph to keep it for both of them.

The Cave of the Lovers is both less and more than she imagined. She can't see the crystals in the ceiling that that two lovers arranged to illuminate their way, but she doesn't need their light. Her feet see things that no lamp could have revealed. Still, the tomb is a place only an earthbender could truly love: a message across the ages shaped out of the mute rock.

Oma's grief for her lover laid the foundations of a great city. Toph's grief for her friend, she thinks, is no less profound. But though she is tempted, she does not bend a tribute to her first student that might endure as long as Omashu has. If Aang has taught her anything, it's that the best memorials are living ones. Shu's real legacy isn't the stones of the cave: it's the people of Omashu, still strong and still united.

She stops in Omashu on her way to her next job, where she finds an impromptu memorial to Avatar Aang in the city square. She lights a stick of incense for old times' sake and adds it to the offerings. "Well, Twinkletoes," she says under her breath, "they'll forget you, and they'll forget me. But that's okay, right?"

The world they're rebuilding will endure even if their names don't.

* * *

  


#### Year 30

#### 

The girl thinks her teacher is the strongest and most beautiful woman in the entire world. Once she says as much to the chief, and he laughs until he cries, earning him a well-deserved thump on the arm from teacher and student. It's certainly no laughing matter to the girl. She may be the youngest bender in the Southern Water Tribe, but her teacher is a legend. And justly so: she has traveled with an Avatar, and defeated a Fire Princess, and even turned back the full force of a tsunami.

It's the last feat that no one will ever forget. The entire village watched that day as her teacher placed herself between the village and certain destruction, and her bending was as terrible and as beautiful as the deadly wave. The girl wasn't even a bender-in-training then--she wouldn't join her teacher's classes for another whole year--but she'd still realized that she was witnessing something incredible. The girl can only hope that one day her bending will be half as amazing.

For the moment, there's still the basics: rhythmic breathing and repetitive drills from sunrise to sunset. Back and forth, flow and surge, swish and splash. The splash bit usually isn't intentional, just the inevitable lapse of concentration that leaves something--generally her poor feet, but sometimes her head, and once twelve of her fellow students--soaking wet. The girl has talent for sure, but she has yet to tame it. But her struggles don't seem to trouble her teacher. After each mishap (and there are many mishaps), her teacher simply claps her hands to bring the girl's attention back to the lesson. "Try again," she says. If she sometimes has to bite back a smile when the girl finds an inventive new way to fail...well, that's forgivable.

These days the girl likes how her teacher laughs--often and loudly--even though that means sometimes being the butt of a joke. In the beginning it troubled her, not the teasing so much as the lack of solemnity. Legendary benders were supposed to have more gravitas. The girl's still embarrassed by how long it took her to figure out that she was just looking for her teacher's greatness in the wrong places.

The girl grows up, and her waterbending blossoms. Somewhere along the way she crosses the line from precocious student to dearly trusted apprentice. But as her mastery grows, she begins to dream, and each night they become more vivid. The strangest thing is how they settle in her muscle memory, how her hands suddenly remember how to hold a glider staff or wield a fan. Many benders are mystics, the girl knows, but she begins to worry that her dreams are a sign of something darker than talent.

On her sixteenth birthday, the girl is the guest of honor at a very tense family party. Her parents pretend to be their normal selves and fool absolutely no one. All the guests excuse themselves early, not sure what's going on but certain that they don't want to be around it.

Soon after the last set of cousins has left, the chief and her teacher show up on the doorstep with gifts of their own. The chief gives her one of his lucky boomerangs, but her teacher presents her with something much more precious: the choker she wears around her own neck. The girl protests that it's too valuable for a gift, and her teacher tells her, sternly, "It was meant to be passed on."

This is the final straw. The girl asks someone--anyone--to explain what is happening. The adults exchange meaningful glances until the chief pokes her teacher in the side. "Katara. It should be you."

So her teacher clears her throat and begins to speak. "There's something you need to know now that you're of age. Actually, I'm surprised you haven't figured it out for yourself. You've always been so bright. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe we're telling you something you already know."

And in that moment, the girl does know, and she can only ask herself why it took her so long to accept it. All the pieces were always there: her bending, her dreams, and the hole in the heart of the world that's been around for exactly as long as she's been alive.

Her teacher's gaze is steady and a bit sad, and the girl can guess who she might be remembering. And with fear and awe and exhilaration, the girl says the only thing left to say.

"I am the Avatar."


End file.
